


garden of earthly delights

by weatheredlaw



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Explicit Sexual Content, Flogging, M/M, One Shot Collection, Safewords
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-31 16:02:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: tell me what it is you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?or: a collection of good omens au stories
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 301





	1. burning bright [dæmon au]

**Author's Note:**

> a collection of good omens AU stories; feel free to drop by my tumblr and suggest new ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s a bit late to swing by the shop, don’t you think?”
> 
> Crowley raised a brow. “Aziraphale doesn’t sleep.”
> 
> “He does.” The raven on Crowley’s shoulder gave a sigh. “But I see your point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter contains: safe words, flogging, come eating, come sharing

_“It’s a bit late to swing by the shop, don’t you think?”_

Crowley raised a brow. “Aziraphale doesn’t sleep.”

“He _does_.” The raven on Crowley’s shoulder gave a sigh. “But I see your point.”

Crowley hummed and pulled a cigarette from the case in his pocket. The match strike burned bright and hot in the dark of the warehouse as he watched the last of the crates descend from the airship. Crowley’s foreman shouted at a few of the men lingering on the ramp before turning to make his way toward Crowley, his weasel dæmon hot on his heels.

“We’re all set here, sir.”

“_Excellent_, Mr. Shadwell.” Crowley took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke at the ceiling. “You’ll see Tracy in the morning for your pay.”

“Ay, sir.” Shadwell gave a nod and whistled loud and sharp. His men and their dæmons began gathering by the door. Crowley stood for a while and watched them. Men of the docks had their own language. Being from further inland, he’d never quite learned it, and envied them from afar.

“They’re going to invite you out for a drink,” the raven said. “You should say yes, we can see Aziraphale in the morning.”

Crowley flicked ash from the cigarette. Said nothing.

“_Mr. Crowley!_” Shadwell’s voice rang through the warehouse. “Any chance we can get you to Paulie’s for a pint?”

Crowley waved them along. “No thank you, Mr. Shadwell. Though, as always, I appreciate the offer.”

“Fair enough,” Shadwell called, and ushered his men from the warehouse.

The raven clucked his tongue. “Should have said yes.”

Crowley ignored him and walked out of the warehouse. He motioned for a dock worker to close it and he pulled the key from his pocket and did up the series of locks that had protected his airship for fifteen years.

“Maybe next time, Raph.” He dropped the cigarette on the dock and stamped it out. “We’ve got an appointment to keep.”

* * *

The hare perched on Aziraphale’s desk would, occasionally, offer a comment on his work. She was as knowledgeable as her partner on the translation of Dante that sat before them, but did not have to be the one to transcribe it. As often as she pointed out his mistakes, Aziraphale pointed out this oft-discussed fact.

“You won’t be at it much longer anyway,” she said, hopping carefully across the tabletop to peer out the window. “I see the captain.”

Aziraphale looked up, peering down his nose through his glasses, watching Crowley and his tell-tale cigarette glow make their way up the street. Raphael flew just above his head before coming to perch on his shoulder. The bookshop doors were locked, so Aziraphale stood quickly and went to open them, before disappearing into the stacks.

His dæmon sighed. “He knows you do it.”

“That’s not the _point_, Juliet.”

“Is there a point, anymore?”

“_Quiet._”

The bell over the door rang and the door opening, letting in the cool night air along with the soft murmuring of Crowley and his dæmon.

“—not really what we’d been _planning_,” Raphael murmured.

“Hastur and Ligur are heading North. They’re not getting there before _me._” The door swung shut. “Angel?”

“_Back here!_” Aziraphale pulled off his glasses and tucked them into his pocket before grabbing a book and coming out to meet them. “Ah, there you are. I was just shelving a few things.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t leave your door unlocked like that. People might think you sell things.”

“You’re _hilarious._ Nosh?”

“I could go for a bite.”

Aziraphale smiled and made his way through the shop toward the stairs that led up to his flat above. Crowley followed behind and, when they came into the upstairs sitting room, moved around and collapsed onto the sofa. Raphael perched on the back of it and cawed down to Juliet, who stood on her hind legs and stiff at him in greeting.

“I’m exhausted.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You _are_ rather late.”

“Storm over Germany,” Crowley muttered. “You’ve got wine?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” Aziraphale said from the kitchen. There were several beats of silence before he heard soft footsteps behind him. Aziraphale didn’t turn. He kept rearranging things on the cutting board, things Crowley would not eat because Crowley subsisted almost entirely on a diet of coffee, butterscotch candy, and cigarettes. Crowley’s hands curled around Aziraphale’s shoulders, and Aziraphale suddenly felt the press of Crowley’s face against the curve of his neck.

He breathed deep. “Terribly sorry, angel.” Aziraphale turned. “Won’t happen again.”

Crowley kissed him, and Aziraphale dropped his cheese knife.

Over Crowley’s shoulder, Aziraphale could see their dæmons — on the floor, circling one another. Raphael cawed, affectionately. Untypical of a raven, but he was _Crowley’s _raven, Crowley’s dæmon. Of course he wasn’t _typical._ Juliet craned her neck to get closer, ears twitching expectantly. Crowley deepened their kiss, his tongue sliding into Aziraphale’s mouth with a moan.

“_Crowley_.”

“I have _missed _you,” Crowley murmured.

“And I, you.”

Crowley laughed. Aziraphale wound his arms around Crowley’s waist and held him close, kissing him back just as fervently. He pushed his hands under Crowley’s coat and pushed, trying to get it off him. Crowley let go of Aziraphale’s face and twisted his arms behind his back, finagling the coat off and onto a kitchen chair.

Aziraphale gave a gentle push and Crowley stumbled back. He looked a little dazed, more than a little exhausted as he offered Aziraphale his hand. Aziraphale took it, and let himself be led back to his own bedroom.

“Raph said it was too late to drop by.”

Aziraphale laughed and sat heavily on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes. “He’s only trying to tap into your respectable side.”

Crowley scowled. “I haven’t got one of those,” he muttered, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the armchair in the corner of the room.

“Oh, I don’t know.” Aziraphale looked up at him and smiled. Crowley came and cupped his cheek with one hand, bending low to kiss him. “I’ve always thought you were a gentleman.”

Crowley huffed. “I’ll show _you_ a gentleman,” he murmured, though it wasn’t particularly threatening. In truth, there really wasn’t _anything_ threatening about Crowley. Not to Aziraphale, at least. He knew, of course, that Crowley was a ruthless businessman when he wanted to be. That making an enemy of him could be the worst mistake of any man’s life. He wasn’t _violent_, but Crowley was quite adept at taking down his enemies with little more than a rumor. And he didn’t do it lightly. It took a great deal of upset to lead Crowley down the path of idle gossip, but that’s all it took.

Just a word, whispered in the right ear.

“Undress,” he whispered. Aziraphale shivered.

Their dæmons had shifted into the bedroom and were still not quite touching. Juliet twitched all over, same as Aziraphale’s _nerves_ were _alight._ He hadn’t touched Crowley in weeks, hadn’t _been_ touched by Crowley in weeks, and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it through this first bit. From the looks of it, Crowley wasn’t near as steady as he wanted to appear. His hands trembled as they fussed with his trousers, so Aziraphale reached out and helped.

Crowley swallowed. “Sorry,” he said, voice _worlds_ away from the one Aziraphale had just heard. “_Sorry._”

“Don’t apologize,” Aziraphale said. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, _I know_, I just…” Crowley pulled at the straps of his suspenders, letting them hang by his sides, before he knelt. “I have been thinking about you since the moment I _left_ you.”

“It’s alright.” Aziraphale kissed him. “I’m right here.”

Crowley pulled back and smiled. “Yeah,” he said, “you are.”

The sincerity always felt like falling through ice — Aziraphale had done so as a boy, years and years and _years_ ago — tumbling at breakneck speed _down_ and being suddenly cold all over and hot at the same time, scrambling for the surface. Crowley kissed him through the shock, reaching down to pluck at the buttons of his trousers before freeing his cock.

Aziraphale hissed. “_Oh._”

“Did you touch yourself while we were gone?”

“_Yes._”

“I did, too.” Crowley kissed him again, stroking his cock with more intent. “Clothes off, Aziraphale. Come on.”

Aziraphale nodded, yanking his sweater over his head. Crowley stood and shimmied out of his trousers and shirt, stumbling as he kicked his shoes off at the same time. Aziraphale covered his mouth to keep from laughing.

“_Shut it_,” Crowley muttered, falling into armchair with a grin. In the floor, Juliet laughed, falling onto her side as Raphael spread his wings and snickered at her. Aziraphale finished undressing while Crowley watched from the chair. When he was done, Crowley stood and cupped Aziraphale’s face in his hands, kissing him.

Aziraphale ran his hands over Crowley’s chest, letting one slip down toward his cock. He brushed it with his knuckles. “How would you like me, my dear?”

Crowley swallowed. “Lay down,” he murmured, “and I’ll take care of you.”

“Oh, but you’ve been traveling for weeks, I thought—”

“Taking care of you takes care of me,” Crowley said. Raphael snapped his beak at Juliet. “Please.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course,” he said, pressing a lingering kiss to Crowley’s shoulder before he sat on the edge of the bed and moved toward the headboard. Crowley often enjoyed laying him out, getting his mouth everywhere he could and driving Aziraphale absolutely mad.

He was certain Crowley wouldn’t disappoint.

* * *

Aziraphale made the most _perfect_ noises, once Crowley got his tongue in him.

“Oh, _oh_, my dear, right there, _yes._” The word transformed into a soft whine at the end and Crowley smiled, pulling his tongue against Aziraphale’s hole again. Aziraphale’s hands clenched around the sheets as he arched against Crowley’s mouth, his cock leaking against his stomach. “So good,” he murmured. “So _good_.”

Crowley clamped his hands harder on Aziraphale’s hips, drove his tongue in further.

“_Crowley!_”

Crowley pulled back. “Yes, angel? Something you needed?”

Aziraphale scowled. In the floor, Raphael and Juliet were wrapped around one another, tucked in for the night in the comfortable knot they often became when their partners got like this.

“_Fuck_ me,” he said. Crowley’s entire body _snapped_ with the force of his words.

“_Christ._”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Aziraphale said automatically.

Crowley laughed. “You just can’t let it go, can you?”

“I am not going d-discuss my…” Aziraphale moaned as Crowley licked his cock, dragging his tongue from root to tip. “My _past_ with you like this.”

Crowley smiled. “I already know your past, angel.” He glanced around. “Any Magisterium officials hiding in here?”

“_Crowley._”

“Oh, come off it, angel. They’d as soon as bug you as they would _ground_ me.”

Aziraphale raised a brow. “They might.”

“They wouldn’t. All of London would riot.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, I suppose that’s — _ah!_” He arched his back as Crowley rose up and took nearly all his cock. “Yes, _yes_—” He turned and fumbled with the bedside table before tossing a familiar little bottle in Crowley’s direction. “_Please_—”

Crowley pulled off with a wet sound, spit hanging from his chin as he caught his breath. “Fuck, angel.” He pushed himself to his knees, fumbling with the bottle. Aziraphale glanced past him and laughed.

“They missed each other.”

Crowley glanced at their dæmons and shook his head. “Little shit. Acting like he was too bloody noble to come over.” He looked back at Aziraphale, who, in the light of the lamp by his bed, did remind Crowley of the angel he was named after. The sight stunned him, but only for a moment, before he leaned forward, pressing one slick finger against Aziraphale’s hole and sliding it in.

“_Oh_, my dear.”

“I can’t wait to be inside you,” Crowley murmured. “Every night this week, it’s all I imagined. Me inside you, you inside me. Later, or tomorrow. I’ll let you fuck me. Would you like that?”

“You know I would.”

Crowley grinned, adding another finger. Aziraphale moaned under him and, by the time Crowley had three fingers in him, he was panting and rolling his hips into it, begging for Crowley to take him, take him, _take him_ —

“On your hands and knees,” Crowley said, pulling out his fingers. Aziraphale gasped as he did and nodded, rolling onto his side and pushing himself up. He rocked back and forth, muttering _Crowley Crowley please, just fuck me_.

Crowley bent over him, kissing the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Did you imagine _this?_” He pressed the tip of his slick cock against Aziraphale’s hole and relished in Aziraphale’s sigh of relief. “I suppose you did.”

“So many nights...and days.”

“_Ha!_ Is that what you get up? Instead of selling books.”

Aziraphale huffed. “S-sometimes it’s very...very _slow. _Oh, Crowley, just like that.”

“Yeah?”

“_Yes_.”

Crowley began to thrust harder, filling Aziraphale with every stroke. The room was filled with the rhythmic sound of skin on skin, as they both panted heavily in the glow of the room. Crowley draped himself over Azirapale’s back and fucked into him, while Aziraphale rocked back into every thrust.

“More, _more_—”

“I’m giving you everything I’ve _got._”

“You’re not,” Aziraphale said, looking over his shoulder. “And we both know it.”

Crowley growled, straightening up. “Fine,” he snapped. “_Fine._” With a groan he pulled out — slow, slow, _slow_ — and thrust back in, _hard._

“H-_ah!_” Aziraphale threw his head back. “_Yes, yes_—”

“Like that? You want _that?_”

“Harder, _harder_.”

“Fuck, angel, you’re killing me.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Not yet I haven’t.”

“God, _fuck_—”

It was a testament to Aziraphale’s state of mind that he didn’t chastise Crowley for taking the Lord’s name in vain. It didn’t really matter. Crowley was gone. Aziraphale was gone. They were nothing but a writhing mess of one another, taking and taking. Crowley had missed this, he had _missed_ Aziraphale, how it felt to be buried inside him. It only took a few weeks, a _month_, apart to do this.

Crowley knew that he loved Aziraphale. He knew just as well Aziraphale loved him.

Knowing was one thing. Saying was another.

Beneath him, Aziraphale wrapped one hand around his cock.

“S-so much better, my dear. With you here.”

Crowley laughed. “Always better with you, angel.”

“Are you close?”

Crowley nodded.

“Come for me, come inside me, let me have you—”

“God, _yes_, I want to, I _want_—” Crowley pulled out and Aziraphale fell to his side and moved onto his back again. He was still fucking his fist as Crowley thrust into him again, over and over, the tension inside him building into an unstoppable thing.

Crowley came with a shout, watching Aziraphale desperately stroke himself faster and faster until he was coming, too, making a mess of himself.

They stayed like that for a few moments, Crowley buried in Aziraphale, Aziraphale holding his softening cock. Finaly, Crowley pulled out, watching his come spill from Aziraphale’s hole. He reached down and pulled two fingers through it. Aziraphale rose up to meet him and licked them clean, eyes closed. He opened them and smiled.

“I knew you were holding back,” he said.

Crowley laughed and fell into bed beside him. “Well, it seemed only _fair._”

“Fair? You’re gone for _weeks_ and you want to talk to me about _fair?_” Aziraphale sat up with a groan. When he’d cleaned the both of them, he came back to bed and wiggled the quilt on the bed out from under Crowley, who was very nearly unconscious. “There we are,” he murmured, and pulled him close. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Mmhm.”

“I’d heard things, you know.”

“I’m sure you did.” Crowley did managed to look over Aziraphale at their dæmons, who were now fast asleep. _Best I follow suit_, he thought, and drifted off in Aziraphale’s arms.

* * *

Aziraphale woke, and the other side of the bed was empty. He flung out an arm and called into the dim light of dawn, “Crowley?”

“Over here, angel.”

Aziraphale turned and saw him, sitting in the armchair, mostly dressed. He was holding the alethiometer.

“Says here you unlocked the door for me, angel.”

“So?”

Crowley laughed. “No reason. Just...brushing up.”

“You ought to have that with you.”

“Nah.” Crowley stood and set it on the bed. “S’too dangerous,” he said, pulling the straps of his suspenders over his shoulders. “Besides, you’re doing a good job of keeping it safe for me.”

“You know I _have_ other things I’m trying to protect.”

“Yes,” Crowley said, “I’m aware. But it can’t stay with me, though I will make use of it once more before I go.” He glanced down at their dæmons, who seemed reluctant to part. “Come on, Raph. We’ve got errands to run.”

Aziraphale tensed. “You’re leaving?”

“Hm?” Crowley glanced at him as he sat down to tie his shoes. “No, nothing like that. I’ll be here for at least a week. Things to do, before we head North.”

“North…”

“Plenty of work, that way.”

“Hastur and Ligur need to be taken care of,” Raphael murmured, untangling himself from Juliet. She lifted her head and yawned, finally making her way to the bed where Aziraphale leaned over and lifted her into his arms.

“Yes. Yes, they do.” Crowley sighed. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?”

“Me?”

“No, the rabbit.”

“She’s a _hare_,” Aziraphale said, “but yes, I would love to.”

“Good. I’ll swing by for you around seven-thirty?”

“That’ll do nicely, I think.”

Crowley grinned, bending down to kiss Aziraphale. “Coat’s in the kitchen. I’ll see myself out.”

Aziraphale gripped the back of his neck. “It’s barely _dawn_,” he whispered. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

“You’ll see me tonight,” Crowley said, but he didn’t pull away. They kissed once more before Crowley murmured, “Mind how you go, angel,” and drew back.

Aziraphale let go, letting his other hand fall to clutch his dæmon. “Yes,” he said. “Mind how you go.”

* * *

Years ago, Aziraphale had been a young man working for the Magisterium. He worked for the Archives, in London, and had been very happy, at least the first few years. Aziraphale hadn’t worked for the Magisterium for several years when he first met Crowley, but the airship captain did like to _tease_ about it, how Aziraphale had converted him into a proper criminal, suggesting he bring back certain texts and items the Magisterium did not allow the study of.

Aziraphale had always been dangerous, long before he met Crowley. Crowley simply...exacerbated his less than savory attributes.

He had left the Magisterium on good terms, and even provided them with texts he came across, to stay in their good graces. But his departure had left the Archives lacking. He’d heard through the grapevine the different people they’d hired to do Aziraphale’s job simply couldn’t measure up. Which is what led a Magisterium agent or two to his doorstep at least twice a year.

Juliet often sensed them first, and later that morning, after Crowley had gone, they appeared.

“Bit early this year,” she murmured.

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said, and went to greet them. “Gabriel, what a lovely surprise.”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel, perpetually chipper even when he was _not_, gestured to the man beside him. “I believe you remember Sandalphon.”

Aziraphale raised a brow. “It’s been some time, but yes.” He held out his hand and Sandalphon gave it a weak shake. His beetle dæmon scurried across his shoulders.

Gabriel held out his arms and looked around. “The place looks better all the time, Aziraphale. Thank you, for the Calvin texts you passed along last month. _Immensely_ helpful to the research Michael is doing right now.”

“I’m glad to help her. Is there anything I can get the two of you? Tea, perhaps?”

“No,” Gabriel said, and let one hand fall onto the head of his puma dæmon. “We’re just here to say thank you and, as always, extend an invitation to return to the Magisterium to work. Full time.”

“Ah, well.” Aziraphale turned as a young woman came in. “Welcome, welcome. Feel free to look around.” He motioned for Gabriel and Sandalphon to follow him further into the shop. “As I’ve mentioned before, I do _appreciate_ the thought, but I’m quite happy where I am.”

“An interesting little place,” Sandalphon said. “Do you get many customers who are not aware of the banned list?”

“We keep it displayed throughout the shop,” Aziraphale said, and that was certainly true. To Crowley’s annoyance more than anyone else’s, Aziraphale kept the Magisterium’s list of banned texts hung in various places in the shop. While Gabriel and Sandalphon dropped by quite rarely, an inspector came by every few months to go through Aziraphale’s stock and remove anything that seemed too close to something on the list. Most things were returned to him, though he’d lost a few books of poetry over the years as the Magisterium’s tastes changed with the leadership. Crowley typically replaced them.

“You haven’t reported any suspicious persons in quite a while,” Gabriel said. “Is business good?”

“Business is booming, as they say.” Aziraphale adjusted a book sitting crooked on a small end table and moved back to the front. “I’ve simply not had any trouble. You’ll not I _did_ report a suspicious person loitering outside my shop to the police, though I’ve no idea what came of it.” He sighed. “I assure you, we keep a careful eye on things.” Aziraphale glanced down at Juliet, who kept her ears drawn back in disgust.

“The Magisterium would welcome you back at any time,” Gabriel said. “With _open_ arms.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “I don’t doubt that.”

* * *

“Something the matter, angel?” Crowley refilled his champagne glass and looked around. “You’re looking past me an awful lot.”

“Hm?”

Crowley sighed. “You’re _distracted._ I’m checking in.”

“It isn’t you.” Aziraphale took a sip. “You ordered well, that’s much better than the swill we had last time.”

“That’s because I imported this. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.” Aziraphale’s hand fell into his lap to reach for Juliet, who stretched. “Gabriel was in the shop.”

Crowley didn’t growl. He was quite pleased with himself. “Oh?”

“He wants me to return to the Magisterium, it’s the same thing. It’s only...he brought someone with him. Sandalphon.”

“Don’t know the name.”

“You wouldn’t, I suspect. He does deal with PR or trade. He’s...well he bans _books_, honestly.”

“...Ah. I see.”

“It just made me wonder…”

“No one’s ratted you out,” Crowley said softly. Raphael shifted uncomfortably on his shoulder. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I know that. Well, I suppose I know that. I don’t _really_ though. Do I?” He smiled thinly. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining a perfectly wonderful evening.”

“You haven’t,” Crowley said quickly, “and there’s nothing to apologize for.” He drained his own glass before filling it again. “You haven’t touched your appetizer, that’s not like you.”

“It _smells_ delicious. Did you want a taste?” Aziraphale seemed to settle back into his usual self. Eating was a favorite hobby of his. Watching him eat was a favorite hobby of _Crowley’s_. Having dinner together was typically a lovely experience.

“_Hastur_,” Raphael whispered.

“Perfect.” He turned. “_Hastur!_ Such a delight to see you here. How are you?”

Hastur grunted. “Fine.” He sat his toad dæmon on the table. It _oozed._ “Have you heard about these port restrictions?”

“No,” Crowley said, “can’t say I have.”

“Found a mountain of papers on my desk this morning. Haven’t got half of them finished. Once they’re submitted, takes the council ten days to approve you.”

Crowley raised a brow. “That’s _ridiculous._ You _must_ be joking.”

“I’m not. Ligur said to ask if you knew who’d arranged it.”

“Can’t say I do. I’m willing to find out though, if it gets us out of port sooner.”

Hastur didn’t _look_ like he believed him, but this was no place for a fight. He lifted his dæmon and nodded. “Right. Let us know what you find out,” he said, and returned to his table.

Crowley waited until he was gone before taking a smug sip of his champagne.

Aziraphale sighed. “You _do_ know about the port restrictions, don’t you?”

“Oh, _angel._” Crowley grinned. “I _invented_ the port restrictions. I’m owed more than a few favors.”

“So while they’re filling out paperwork, you’ll already be North.”

“Oh, no, I’m going to fill out the paperwork. Most of it, at least. But if mine gets processed faster than everyone else’s, well. That’s not something _I_ can help, is it?”

Raphael chuckled. “Snake,” he muttered affectionately.

“You’re a monster,” Aziraphale said, but he smiled all the same.

* * *

“_Fuck, angel_—”

“I told you to stand still and _behave_,” Azirpahale said gently. “Now, where are we?”

“Aces,” Crowley panted, their word for when things should continue. “_Aces!_”

“Good.” Aziraphale began using the flogger again, twisting his wrist and watching as it hit the bare skin of Crowley’s upper back. He stood by the bed, still dressed, as Crowley stood naked in front of him. They’d been at this for a short while, and it wasn’t something they always did. Crowley was the one to ask for it, and Aziraphale was happy to give it to him. Crowley kept his arms folded in front of him, breathing heavy.

“Were you thinking of this, too?” Aziraphale asked, “while you were away?”

“_Yes_.”

“I’m glad, that’s good. You’re doing so well, can you keep going?”

“I—”

“Crowley.”

“Aces,” he said, “aces.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale continued, listening to the way the leather hit Crowley’s skin. The way Crowley shuddered with every strike. The way —

“Fuck, _atrium_—” Aziraphale stopped, dropping the flogger as Crowley fell forward onto his hands onto the bed. “Fuck. _Fuck._”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale soothed, “it’s fine. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Crowley moaned, just before his elbows gave out and he fell to his knees. Aziraphale knelt beside him. “Come on, my dear. Let’s get you into bed.” Crowley nodded and let Aziraphale maneuver him up and onto his stomach. “I’m going to undress and give you a massage, would you like that?”

“I would.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale took off his clothes and laid them over the armchair. He glanced down at their dæmons — Juliet was nuzzling at Raphael’s neck. The raven seemed rather out of it. When Aziraphale turned back to the bed, Crowley was watching him, head pillowed in his arms, and smiling. “What?”

“C’mere,” he said, and Aziraphale smiled. He grabbed a bottle of massage oil they’d used in the past and went over to the bed, pouring some into his palm before coating his hands. Crowley hissed as Aziraphale’s fingers touched the red, sensitive skin of his back, but he moaned as Aziraphale began to work him over.

“Better?”

“Much,” Crowley mumbled.

“You did so well, Crowley. You can take so much.”

“Always try. For you.”

“I’m glad you used the word. You know I don’t want to hurt you.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, but I do _like it_ when you do, angel.”

“Well. You know what I mean.” He continued moving lower and lower, until he reached Crowley’s buttocks and began to massage there, too. “Are you still ready for me?” He’d opened Crowley up, slowly, earlier in the evening, and tested him now with three oil slick fingers They slid in easily, and Crowley moaned.

“_Oh, _I want that. I want—”

“_Yes_.” Aziraphale reached for his cock, which had grown stiffer with every passing second, every press of his hands over Crowley’s back. He stroked it before leaning forward and pushing into Crowley with a sigh. “Oh, Crowley. _Crowley._”

It was slow and intentional. Different from the way they’d started things off. Aziraphale kissed the oiled skin of Crowley’s upper back.

“There’s only one perfect thing I keep here. The only thing I’d mourn if the Magisterium took it away,” Aziraphale said.

“D-don’t.”

“You have a word tonight, Crowley. Say it, and I’ll be silent.”

Under him, Crowley shuddered. “...No,” he whispered.

Aziraphale kissed the back of his neck. “It’s you,” he said. “They could take it all, so long as they left me you.”

Crowley came with a strangled cry, and Aziraphale wasn’t long after him. When he had finished, he pulled out and sank down between Crowley’s thighs, spreading his cheeks and lapping hungrily at his hole, sucking out his own come.

“_Angel_—”

Aziraphale pulled back, climbed up to Crowley, and kissed him. “Mind how you go,” he whispered.

Crowley smiled. “Mind how you go.”

* * *

The needle on the alethiometer kept swinging the same way.

“Stop acting like it’s broken,” Raphael said. “You know it’s right.”

Crowley scowled. “Yes, I _know._ I just—”

He’d asked it if it was safe to leave Aziraphale behind, same as always, but this time, the answer wasn’t as sure. Always, the alethiometer told him that leaving Aziraphale behind was risky. That he was in no _imminent_ danger, but there was risk there all the same. This time, things were different, and Crowley didn’t like it.

_Moon. Sword. Hourglass._ It flicked to the moon, swung and hovered for far too long over the sword, and eventually, slowly, ticked its way over to the hourglass.

“What’s it mean?” Raphael asked.

“Nothing good.”

“Should we tell him?”

Crowley looked over his shoulder. Aziraphale was sleeping in the next room, and Crowley would need to leave by sunrise. He’d spent the week between the shop and the warehouse. He needed to leave today before Hastur and Ligure found him out.

“Is he in danger?”

“Could be.”

“More so than usual?”

Crowley sighed. “Can’t be sure.” He closed the alethiometer and took it back to the little room upstairs where Aziraphale hid his most prized possessions. Different bible translations, banned bible books, banned poetry. And other things, wines from countries that were not allowed to be sold and a few paintings Crowley had stolen. He placed the alethiometer in its case, then into the safe buried behind several layers of books and dust.

Back in the bedroom, Aziraphale was still sleeping, Juliet curled onto the pillow beside him. Crowley slid back into bed and leaned over, kissing his shoulder.

Aziraphale moaned and shifted. “Crowley?”

“It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“Why’re you awake?”

“Just checking something. It’s alright.”

Aziraphale sat up on one elbow. “You look worried.”

Crowley sighed. “You need to change the safe combination. I shouldn’t be able to open it whenever I want.”

“Crowley. The alethiometer _belongs_ to you.”

“It doesn’t. But that’s not the point.” Crowley leaned in and kissed him. “Come North with me.”

“...What?”

“Just...come North with me. With us. It’d be a lot more fun than sitting around here for three months.”

Aziraphale balked. “You’re going to be gone for _three months?_”

“I…”

“Why didn’t you _say_ that?”

Crowley swallowed. “...Slipped my mind, I guess.”

Aziraphale looked angry, _properly_ angry. He laid back down and rolled over. “I am going back to sleep. I can’t believe you.”

Crowley moved toward him. “I’m leaving at dawn, you know this—”

“Then you best leave quietly,” Aziraphale said. “Three _bloody_ months. I suppose you were just going to tell me when you’d left.”

“I don’t...I don’t see why it matters.”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. “You _know_ why it matters,” he said.

Crowley sighed.

_Yes_, he thought, _I do._

* * *

“All ready, Mr. Crowley?”

“Indeed, Mr. Shadwell.”

Shadwell stuck out his hand. “Always a pleasure workin’ for ya, sir.”

Crowley smiled and returned the favor. “And you, Mr. Shadwell.” He turned to the ship and sighed.

Raphael cawed miserably. “I hate how we left things.”

“So do I.”

“Will he forgive us?”

“No clue.” Crowley pulled a cigarette from the case in his pocket and struck a match to like it. The end glowed bright in the pale blue fog of early morning.

Raphael suddenly stiffened, spread his wings and pushed off Crowley’s shoulder. “_Juliet._”

Crowley turned and, walking toward him, cutting through the fog, was Aziraphale, his dæmon leaping a few feet ahead. Crowley took another drag, blew smoke out into the fog between them.

Aziraphale stopped. “...You didn’t say goodbye.”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“I did. I do.” Aziraphale stepped closer. “I’m still angry,” he said quietly, “but I know why you didn’t tell me.” He reached out and took the cigarette from Crowley’s hand, taking a long pull from it. “I worry for you. Every time you go. I suppose if I’d known...well. I _do_ know, and I’m sick about, I’m so _sick_—”

Crowley kissed him. Pulled the cigarette from his fingers and tossed it to the ground, stamping it out. “_Please_. Come North with me.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes. “What did you see?”

“It...wasn’t clear. It’s never clear, but the point was it was _different._ Different from every other time I’ve asked. And I always fucking ask, Aziraphale. I never leave you without asking.” Crowley held his face in his hands. “Leaving you, right now, is going to be harder than it’s ever been.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to take that risk.”

“Come _North_ with me—”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale put two fingers over Crowley’s lips. “Juliet and I have _never_ been safe. The moment we left the Magisterium, we were in danger. You can’t help that.” He looked down at their dæmons, circling one another at their feet. “I will be in danger now, I will be in danger for the rest of my life. It’s...much more exciting, than the way I used to live.”

Crowley laughed. “I suppose it is.”

Aziraphale sighed and took Crowley’s hands in his own. “Three months, you said?” Crowley nodded. Aziraphale smiled. “Well.” He gathered Crowley’s hands up and brought them to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “Mind how you go, my love.”

At their feet, Juliet and Raphale stood close. So close, they could have been one creature.

Crowley nodded. Took a step back. “_Mind how you go_.”


	2. right reasons [bachelor au]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley absolutely should not risk his job security for the handsome new bachelor on everyone's favorite reality dating show, _Marry Me!_
> 
> Unfortunately, Aziraphale is more than a little hard to resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretty tame; love confessions, some p vanilla sex, me revealing i've watched way too much bachelor to y'all

Crowley had worked for _Marry Me!_ since he’d lost his last production job eight years before. Nothing _bad_ had really happened, unless you counted having only six-hundred and twenty-one viewers for the pilot episode of your battle robot game show as “bad.” But, the show had been cancelled, and Crowley had had to make a _lot_ of changes based on a _lot_ of promises that had been made. _Marry Me!_ practically hired him on the spot, and even though he really didn’t agree with these sorts of shows — date a dozen people, try to find your true love, pursue a very public engagement, have an even more public falling out — work was work, and he couldn’t afford to be picky.

Eight years later, not much had changed. _Marry Me!_ was still on the air, Crowley still didn’t _like it_, and people still couldn’t get enough. Every season was pretty much the same — handsome young bachelor who did Sports of some kind, a barrage of attractive contestants who all worked social media for Some Company, half a dozen cameras, and the always chipper host, Madame Tracy. _Marry Me!_ had worked out the formula, and it _worked._

And then, like a bolt from the blue — Aziraphale arrived, and nothing was really the same ever again.

* * *

“It’s a nice shirt?”

“It’s a nice shirt,” Crowley said, and adjusted the collar.

“Oh, I’m really not made for this.”

Crowley raised a brow. “What, being handsome on television?”

“...Well. _Yes._”

Crowley sighed. Took a step back. There were a _lot_ of things he wanted to say. Things like, _neither am I, let’s go off together_. Or, _you’re the most beautiful fucking thing that’s stood in front of that camera in eight years, and I’ll kill the person who’s made you think otherwise_.

Instead: “This show doesn’t _do_ ugly, angel. You’d do well to remember that.”

Aziraphale looked a little dumbfounded for a moment before his cheeks went pink. “Ah. Well. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Crowley?” Anathema stuck her head into the dressing room. “Trace says we’re on in five.”

“Right.” He turned back to Aziraphale. “Hey. You look great. You’re _clever_ and everyone out there loves you, so just...have fun tonight. Alright? It’s just a party, it’s just a time to talk and feel things out.”

“It’s been four _weeks_, Crowley. I know how this show works, I’ve seen it before—”

“So you’re slower than the others. It’s doing _wonders_ for the ratings. You’re headlining the best season yet, you know.”

“Yes, but—” Aziraphale stopped. “I am?” Crowley nodded. “Oh. Good _lord._”

“People love you.” _I love you._ “Get out there and knock ‘em dead.”

Aziraphale grinned. “_Right._” He let Crowley lead him from the dressing room and made his way to The House.

The House was a gorgeous villa on an island in the Bahamas. _Marry Me!_ had filmed the second half of every season there for twelve years, and viewers ate it up. Just like they were currently eating up Aziraphale, who, as their oldest and, honestly, most _boring_ contestant, really should have been a flop, but —

A sharply dressed book dealer from Soho with a string of bad love affairs seemed to resonate with the people. They tuned in like the network had never seen. The girl in casting who’d found Aziraphale in a coffee shop one day had gotten the promotion of a lifetime. Crowley, who’d really done nothing more than usher beautiful people from one room to another, was in charge of keeping Aziraphale happy, making sure he was on time, making sure he knew how the evenings and dates should go. It was the worst kept secret in the business that parts of _Marry Me!_ were scripted, but if there was any public motivation to give a shit, the network had never picked up on it.

Crowley found his new responsibilities rather enjoyable. While he’d thought dealing with Aziraphale was going to be _hell_, it’d actually turned out to be more akin to something like _heaven._ Aziraphale was kind and funny, he had a bit of a mischievous streak in him that Crowley _loved_, and he had the most lovely voice for reading. Crowley knew this, because Aziraphale would often read to him when they were getting reading for the day, and it was becoming something of a habit he’d developed.

In all honesty, Crowley’s new responsibilities were a bit _too_ enjoyable, and somewhere between meeting Aziraphale and _now_ — he’d gone and fallen for him.

It violated his contract _at least_ sixteen different ways.

Once the cameras were on and things were rolling, once Tracy had said her bit and gotten the party started — Crowley turned away. It was hard to watch, hard to look. And besides, he had things to do.

* * *

Crowley’s feelings weren’t _real._ Granted, in eight years, he’d never fallen for _anyone_ on the show, but it was really just a simple thing. He was attracted to Aziraphale, and the show, the setting, the _House_, the fucking beach — it made it all worse. It made him feel like he was in love, and _that_ was impossible. These engagements, these relationships, they didn’t _last_, and they ended in ugly, public ways. Crowley didn’t want any of that.

He wanted Aziraphale to find someone and end his hell. He wanted this season of the show to be over. He wanted to take a vacation. Because as much as it had all started out like heaven, it was rapidly deteriorating.

Crowley spent a lot of time when he wasn’t needed walking the beach that surrounded the House. It was beautiful, and there was something incredibly peaceful about standing on the edge between sand and sea, looking out over the waves and water, and closing his eyes. His solitude was only ever broken by Anathema’s gentle call over his walkie, reminding him they had ten minutes until the evening wrapped.

Tonight was the first cocktail party since they’d arrived at the House. Aziraphale would have spent the night wining and dining the handsome men who’d followed him here, hoping to find love or, at the very least, a career in television. Crowley didn’t know their names. They mostly looked the same and talked the same and had the same sort of jobs. When Crowley pictured one of them next to Aziraphale, his stomach turned. None of them were good enough, or smart enough. None of them knew his favorite poem, or his favorite concerto, or his favorite film. No one knew these things because Aziraphale was advised not to share them. His interests were niche. When he waxed poetic about poetry, it was felt that people didn’t relate.

Crowley couldn’t have agreed _less._ He knew that if Aziraphale were allowed to simply _be himself_, people would love him even more. Maybe he’d even find someone to spend the rest of his life with. That was always the problem with _Marry Me!_ Everything was based on what the network wanted, what the network let them say. No one on _Marry Me!_ ever got to be themselves. And as someone who was learning what Aziraphale’s true self was really like, he thought it was a _tragedy._

Aziraphale had shared things with Crowley, and Crowley considered that an enormous privilege. It would have been a fundamental abuse of his power to use it to get something for himself, and Crowley simply couldn’t afford that.

* * *

Inside Aziraphale’s room, the man himself seemed exhausted. He was slumped in an armchair, pulling on his tie and kicking off his shoes.

“Good night?” Crowley asked, closing the door behind him.

Aziraphale looked up. “It was a _disaster._”

Crowley nodded. He’d heard as much from Anathema, who’d warned him that Gabriel wasn’t happy. _Nothing happened_, she’d said, which, in this business, was never a good thing. Gabriel was the network head, and he kept a close eye on _Marry Me!_ If he wasn’t happy, that wasn’t a good sign, and it meant Crowley was in for several hours of damage control.

“Tell me what happened.”

Aziraphale sighed and leaned forward. “I should..._feel_ something by now. Shouldn’t I?”

“Not necessarily.”

“But...everyone _else_ always does.”

“And you’ve seen how those engagements have gone.”

Aziraphale ran a hand through his hair. “I suppose…” He leaned back in the chair again. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

“I told you—”

“No, Crowley. Not...being on television. I mean _this_. Falling in love like this. Granted, I’ve never been particularly _good_ at it, but I feel like no one _knows_ me. I’m not even allowed to be myself.” He glanced up. “I think I might quit.”

This made Crowley stop. On one hand, _yes quit, let’s run away together_. On the other, if Aziraphale left, Crowley would _absolutely_ lose his job.

“I’ll get Tracy—”

“_No._” Aziraphale stood. “I mean...please. Don’t.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Whenever she’s here, they want a camera with her, and they _air it_, and I’m _still_ not able to be myself in front of her.” He began untucking his shirt from his slacks. “I just...need space. A night to myself. Every evening my time is someone else’s, and I’m getting _sick_ of it. I might lose it.”

That was bad. Crowley had to fix _that._

“Right. You want a break?” Aziraphale nodded. “Let me see what I can do. Tomorrow, you’ve _really_ got to put on a show, but if we both play our cards right, I think I can manage it.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Do you really think so?”

“Sure, why not.” Crowley didn’t have any strings to pull, and he’d never been good enough to collect on favors, but he and Tracy were friends, and if he could convince _her_ of it, then the night off was practically guaranteed. “Can’t promise anything _really_, but at the very least—”

Crowley nearly _choked._ Aziraphale was hugging him, and being hugged by Aziraphale was honestly the _last_ thing his heart needed.

“_Aziraphale_—”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said quietly, pulling back. “You’ve been the _most_ kind to me since I arrived.” He looked up at Crowley and they were...very close. Too close, really, but their height difference was just enough that as Crowley looked down, Aziraphale seemed to gaze _fondly_ upwards. If Crowley leaned forward, just an inch or so, their lips would touch, and he could imagine their first kiss, right here, so _clearly_ —

“I wish I could make different choices,” Aziraphale said. “That I could...” He laughed, and stepped back. “Probably best not to finish that sentence,” he said.

Crowley nodded. “Yes. Probably.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get to bed. Bring your A-game tomorrow, and I’ll bring it up with Tracy.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Thank you, Crowley. It...it means _everything._”

Crowley made a face he hoped was gracious and scurried from the room.

* * *

“A night off?” Crowley nodded. Tracy turned around at her vanity and laughed. “Anthony, you can’t be serious.”

“Quite, actually. Says he feels..._off._ Needs a night to recalibrate.”

Tracy sighed. “After last night, I’m sure he does.” She turned back to the mirror and toyed with her curls. “Well I don’t see why not. Even after whatever the cocktail party was, he’s still a favorite with the talking heads. The episode will air on Friday, so I suppose we won’t really know what Gabriel thinks until then.” She glanced over her shoulder. “He’s not going to quit, is he?”

“I managed to steer us clear of _that_ particular disaster.”

“Oh, thank _God._ We cannot afford that right now. This season is going to save us, if everything goes the way it should.”

“He promised he’d...perform. Today.”

“Well that’s good at least. It’s such a pity whoever he winds up with won’t last. They’re not good enough for him, you know.”

“I do.”

“They can’t all be Stacy and Aaron though, I suppose.”

“They certainly can’t.”

Tracy sighed. “Well. I’ll keep an eye on him today, but I _honestly_ don’t see why not. He’s a nice lad, and he deserves it.” She reached out and gave Crowley’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Tell our man not to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

* * *

Aziraphale had done everything he’d been told that day. He’d laughed at all the right jokes, touched all the right arms, whispered in all the right ears, and even let a nice solicitor from Swindon give him a good night kiss. And while his smile never faltered, he looked increasingly miserable as the day wore on to Crowley, who was forcing himself to watch out of some sort of punishment. Gabriel had approved a cameras off night, instead focusing on the tumultuous relationships going on in the House — Daniel and Gavin were having a particularly rough go of it, or so Crowley had heard.

“It’s all set,” Tracy told him, “so long as you’re there. Gabriel doesn’t want him getting any ideas about leaving.”

“But it’s supposed to be his night _off._ No one to bother him.”

Tracy shrugged. “That’s just what I was told. It’s gotta be you or someone you send. Take it or leave it, love.”

Crowley sighed and, during a break, gave Aziraphale the news.

“Wait, the whole night?”

“The whole night.”

“All to myself?”

“Ah, well. I, um. That’s the catch, really. I’ve got to be with you.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Alright.”

“Yeah, I know it’s—” Crowley frowned. “What?”

“That’s fine with me. I was going to invite you anyway.”

“Are you...sure?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Crowley. When you’re not with me, I am utterly and _completely_ alone here. You are my only friend and if I didn’t spend my only night off during this nightmare with you, then there’d really be no point to _having_ a night off in the first place. Please bring enough wine,” he added, and head back into the House.

Crowley stood in the garden for several minutes before he was nearly run over by an intern with a tray of champagne.

* * *

“I mean I suppose my favorite of the bunch is Jaime. He’s quite nice, honestly. I couldn’t really imagine it going anywhere, of course, but it’s that way with everyone.” Aziraphale was on his fourth glass of wine and was, honestly, a _fucking_ delight. Crowley had never seen him so relaxed, never heard him _laugh_ so much, and was enjoying himself immensely.

“I like Ryan myself. I mean, he’s a footballer, isn’t he?”

“He just wants to be on the show next season, or so they’ve all been gossiping.” Aziraphale grinned. “They tell me, you know. Some kind of tactic, I’ve no idea what the point of it is. They’re all _perfectly_ nice, and if it’s a career in television they want, then I suppose I can’t be upset they’re using me to get it, but it does seem a little bit…”

“It’s so much _work_,” Crowley muttered. “I hate work.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“_Ouch_, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I _do_ love when you call me that. I haven’t wanted to ask why because I didn’t...it seemed so _special_, I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Crowley swallowed thickly. Busied himself with refilling his glass. “Well. It’s just. You’re..._good_, you know. You’re kind. And your entire _aesthetic_, Aziraphale. I mean it all just _screams_ angelic.” He looked into his wine and shrugged. “Dunno. Just...seemed like a good nickname. At the time.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s very nice of you to say, Crowley.”

Crowley looked up and scowled. “I’m not _nice._ I’ve never been _nice._”

“But you are. At least to me.”

Crowley shook his head. “No. This job sucks all that out of you. Kind of makes you dead to the world.”

“Well.” Aziraphale leaned forward. “I don’t think that about you at all. I think you’re a good person and you’ve done a wonderful job of making me feel like far less of a fool than I’m sure I’ve made of myself.”

“You haven’t made a fool of yourself. You’re the realest person who’s ever been on this show.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Because you actually believe in love. You’re perfect, honestly. You’re handsome and smart and _real._ S’why people like you so much. S’why _I_ like you so much. I mean you—” Crowley stopped. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck go back, make it better_. Crowley cleared his throat. “You’re a good friend,” he said. “Like you said earlier. Don’t have many myself, and it’s nice, you know. When we’re shooting this. Nice to, ah. Have a friend.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. A friend.”

“Good..._good_ friends,” Crowley murmured. He felt very _light._ Very...loose.

“God, Crowley, I—”

“Maybe I should go,” Crowley said. He set his glass down and stood. “I mean, it’s late right?”

“It’s barely nine,” Aziraphale said.

“_Shit._”

Aziraphale stood with him. “You can’t just be here to stop me from leaving. You could have sent anyone to do that—”

“No, I couldn’t have.”

“Oh, don’t _lie._ I know...I’ve seen you looking at me. And I’m not going to go through with this if I can’t tell you that I’ve been looking _back_, that I—”

“_Don’t_ say it,” Crowley snapped. “You’re out there every day with _fifteen men_ who want you.”

“And I don’t want a _single_ one of them! Not the way I want—”

“_Please_,” Crowley said, turning away. “Please _stop._” He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. This had been a _mistake._ He should have sent Anathema, she’d have set all this right. But he’d wanted this, he’d wanted this _selfish_ night, a night where Aziraphale was all his and they could just be themselves. He’d _wanted_ to be here, and now he was throwing it away. Now he was —

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm and pulled, angling him back toward Aziraphale.

“I want _you_,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley moaned. “Oh, _God_—” He tumbled forward, into Aziraphale’s arms, and kissed him. Licked the wine from his lips and the inside of his mouth. _Danger danger danger_ flashed behind his eyelids as they fluttered closed, as Aziraphale pulled Crowley in closer and tighter, pushed his hands under Crowley’s shirt and squeezed his waist.

“_Crowley_—”

“I want you, too. I have, for _weeks._”

“God, I know, I’ve seen you, and I’ve been trying to tell you, but I can never—”

“A bloody night alone, angel?”

“I just wanted you close, I wanted you here—”

“Fuck me, I just—”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, pulling back. He reached up and cupped Crowley’s cheek. “I’d very much like to.”

* * *

“Th-this stuff’s for the last week, angel.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale murmured, “So I’ve been made_ aware._” He had three lube-slick fingers inside Crowley and was shaking above him. “_God._ You’re so _beautiful_ like this.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Do you know how long it’s been since I…”

Crowley leaned up and kissed him. “I know. Me, too.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Can I…” Crowley nodded. Aziraphale drew out his fingers and Crowley sighed, bending his knee in anticipation. He watched Aziraphale roll a condom over his cock and ready himself, pressing the tip against Crowley’s hole. “Are you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for _weeks_, Aziraphale.”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale sighed and pushed in, slowly. Crowley moaned and then covered his mouth. He’d been good about staying quiet, but he couldn’t be sure who might be around. There was a good chance this entire night was going to get him fired, but right now he was too far gone to care.

Crowley swallowed. “_Fuck_ that’s good. You feel so fucking _good_, angel.”

“I wish you could shout for me. I wish you could be _loud._” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him. “Scream my name. Beg for me. I’d beg for you, you know. If I could.”

“I—”

“So perfect, so _good_.” Aziraphale laughed. “Good and kind and _nice._”

Crowley growled. “Shut up, shut _up_.”

“I won’t. Because even before I came here, no one was as good to me as you.”

“You...you make me. Make me _want_ to be.”

“I’m not the angel you think I am, Crowley.”

Crowley laughed. “Then let’s just...just be who we are.”

Aziraphale kissed him again. “Alright.” He thrust in particularly deep and slow. “Then I am a tired man who wants to leave this island. I want to go home, back to my bookshop. I want my life to be what it is.”

“Oh, angel—”

“I want all that, and I want it with you.”

Crowley gasped as Aziraphale thrust in again, _hard_. “Fuck—”

“I love you,” Aziraphale said. “I told myself falling in love in just a handful of weeks was _impossible_, but it turns out, it’s not.” He reached for Crowley’s hand and twisted their fingers together. “When you’ve found the right person, it happens like _that._”

“_Aziraphale_—”

“Tell me you love me? Only...only if it’s true. _God_, Crowley—”

“I love you,” Crowley said. “I love you, I love you, I—” He arched off the bed. “I’m so close, I’m going to come.”

“Tell me again?”

“I love you.”

“Again?” Aziraphale whispered. He slowed his pace and reached down between them, wrapping his fingers around Crowley’s cock and bringing him off.

Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek and smiled, kissing his brow. “I love you,” he said.

“_Ah_—” Aziraphale came, stilling inside Crowley. He began to stroke him in earnest, faster now, until Crowley came with a gasp, pressing his mouth to Aziraphale’s shoulders to stifle the sound. Aziraphale moaned. “_Fuck._”

Crowley laughed. “I knew you had a swear in you.”

Aziraphale scowled. “I’ve many, actually. I just know how to fucking control myself.”

* * *

Crowley couldn’t spend the night. It wasn’t safe. When he left, Aziraphale was nearly asleep and reaching for him, babbling a bit incoherently.

“I can’t stay,” Crowley whispered, and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning though.”

“You’d better.”

Crowley laughed. “S’my bloody job, angel,” he murmured, and headed out of the room.

There was no one in the hall and Aziraphale’s room was fairly isolated from the rest of the house. Crowley slunk down the halls to his own and quickly shut and locked the door behind him.

_Fuck fuck fuck._ This was...not good. This was bad and not good and, honestly? He’d fire _himself_, if he were Gabriel. He certainly deserved it.

In the morning the situation hadn’t gotten any better. Crowley showered and dressed, making his way back to Aziraphale’s room. No one gave him any strange looks or stopped to ask what they’d heard walking past the night before. The fact that they’d gotten away with it so far as a fucking _miracle_, and Crowley kept expecting some random producer to jump out from behind a corner and show him a photo or force him to listen to a sound bite of Crowley fucking _begging_ for Aziraphale’s cock.

_I’m a fucking idiot,_ he thought, and knocked before going inside.

Aziraphale was eating breakfast and talking to Tracy on the patio, which Crowley _hadn’t_ expected. She grinned as he came close and stood.

“Aziraphale told me last night was _perfect._ He said he knows exactly what he wants now.”

“Does he?”

Tracy put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Nice work,” she whispered, before heading out. Crowley felt _sick._

“Sleep well?” Aziraphale asked. He looked rather pleased, putting a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth like..._that._

“I didn’t.” Crowley turned and went back in the room. “We need to get you dressed for the day.”

“_Or_—” Aziraphale was suddenly behind him, putting his arms around Crowley and turning him to face him. “We could…” He pushed himself up and kissed him, and Crowley very nearly let himself kiss _back._

“Aziraphale, _no._”

“...What’s wrong with you? I thought we...after last night?”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “Look. You are...seeing a lot of people right now. That’s how this _works._”

_And I don’t know if this is real or not._

“Crowley, I don’t feel this way about anyone but you.”

“Yeah, but you...do you really _know that?_ I mean, it’s a beautiful island, a beautiful house. A beautiful beach! It...it _does_ things to you, Aziraphale. It makes you feel things that aren’t...real.”

Aziraphale frowned. “_Real._”

“...Yeah.”

“You...you think what I feel for you isn’t real?”

“This show makes things happen. Plenty of the crew kind of. Fall in and out of love when it’s filming. It’s just the way things are here. And when it’s over, you’ll realize that I’m not what you want—”

“Do _not_ tell me what I want.”

“Aziraphale. We _can’t._” Crowley was trying to stand firm. He was trying to be strong.

It was not _working._

“So you...don’t feel the same.”

Crowley sighed. “_Angel._ I can’t _afford_ to.”

“But that doesn’t mean you _don’t_.”

“...No. I...have feelings for you. But they’ll go away. You’ll find someone and you’ll be gone and it will pass. Like everything else.”

Aziraphale nodded. He seemed to be thinking this over, walking in front of the bed which was still unmade. The bed where Crowley had kissed him and told him he loved him. It hadn’t been a lie. It hadn’t been a fleeting thing. It was all real. And that’s what made it worse.

“Crowley…”

Crowley looked up. Aziraphale was very close, reaching up to take his face in his hands. “Aziraphale…”

“I know why you might think all this, but I need you to know. My feelings are true. And there’s no way you can tell me that _this_...this isn’t _real._” He leaned in, pulled Crowley down, and _kissed_ him.

God, he _loved_ him. It didn’t make sense, it could cost him his _job_, but Crowley loved this well dressed, clever-tongued, Soho book dealer, and _he_ —

The door swung open. Crowley pried himself out of Aziraphale’s arms. Everyone stared at everyone else, and the entire world grew dead quiet.

The intern in the doorway raised a brow. “I’ll...come back,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “...Tell me it’s going to be alright.”

Crowley swallowed. _Wish I could, _he didn’t say_. _

_Wish I could._

* * *

“_You are absolutely fucking fired, do you understand me? And if you think you’re ever going to get another fucking job in this industry you can fucking guess again_—”

Crowley was no longer listening. Gabriel was on the other line, screaming himself hoarse, while Crowley packed his things.

“—_what the fuck am I supposed to do with this now? I fucking swear if our ratings tank I am going to sue you a new asshole, Crowley, do you fucking understand_—”

“I understand, Gabriel.”

“_Are you off that island?_”

“Boat’s taking me in fifteen. See you when I see you.”

“_Crowley_—”

Crowley hung up. He didn’t need to listen to anymore of this to know what Gabriel thought. Honestly, he was feeling a lot less sick than he thought he would. It was probably shock. It would catch up with him in a few hours. The boat was taking him to Freeport, and he’d fly to New York and then back to London. That was it. That was all it was going to take. An hour ago, he’d been kissing Aziraphale in his room. Twelve hours ago, Crowley had told him he loved him.

Amazing, how things could change so quick.

“...Crowley?” Crowley turned, and Tracy was standing in the doorway. “You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?”

“Of course not,” Crowley said, and let her hug him.

“I’m _so_ sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? I’m the one who fucked this up.”

“You’re _in love._ You’re in love and I didn’t notice. I _should_ have noticed.”

Crowley sighed. “That’s not your job,” he murmured, and kissed her forehead. He unwound himself from her arms and zipped his duffelbag. “But I appreciate the thought.”

“He’s not happy here. You should go talk to him.”

“I’ve got a boat to catch. Can’t miss it.”

“_Aziraphale_ _loves you, too._ I don’t know how to fix this, I—”

Crowley shook his head. “Not your mess to clean up.”

“He’s filming right now, and it’s a disaster.”

“Well, when it all goes to shit, I guess Gabriel will know who to blame.”

Tracy scowled. “You two are a _love_ story. I don’t know why he can’t see that.”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s this island,” he said. “Makes things seem different than they are.”

“No,” she said. “That’s nonsense and you know it. You love each other, and I’m—”

“_Not_ going to do anything,” Crowley said quickly. “Tracy, look. You have a great job. A great life. Honestly, I was never meant to stay here forever. Something had to send me packing and I guess...I guess I’m glad it was him.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve gotta go.” He grabbed his bag and moved toward the door.

“_Anthony._”

He stopped. Turned toward her again. “What?”

She sighed. “...Was he worth it?”

Crowley stared. It was...an important question. And she wanted the truth. She _deserved_ the truth. She’d been a good friend.

Crowley smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “He was worth it.” He turned to go before stopping again. “Will you...tell him that? Tell him he was worth it? Tell him I’m sorry, for what I said, but I’d...I’d do it again.” Crowley laughed. “I’d do _all_ of it all over again.”

* * *

He told himself he wasn’t going to watch any new episodes of _Marry Me!_ Seeing it in the tabloids was one thing — the awkward photo of Aziraphale on the beach with Chad or Brad or Glad or _whoever_ — but watching it, hearing his voice, knowing what it sounded like when Aziraphale said _I love you_…

No. Crowley couldn’t.

But he’d always been a little bit of a masochist, so every Friday, he tuned in. Anathema texted him sometimes, asking if he was watching. He always said no. She always said, _don’t lie._

_He misses you_, she said one night. _He’s miserable._

Crowley couldn’t respond to that. He didn’t know how to say, _me, too_ without asking if he could talk to Aziraphale, tell him how he felt one last time, tell him he was sorry for ruining all of this for him.

Fuck. He needed a job.

* * *

“_Did you watch the finale?_” Anathema asked.

“No. I got a job,” Crowley said, shifting the phone to his other ear.

“_Yeah, big BBC job, I heard._”

“It’s not that big.”

“_Bigger than this._”

“Anathema, I’m literally _at work._”

“_You should really watch the finale._”

Crowley sighed. “If I’ve got time. I’ll text you later.”

“_Just watch it_,” she said, and hung up.

Crowley groaned, tossing his mobile onto his desk and burying his face in his hands. He didn’t need to be here anymore, honestly. Just a few emails to send and he could go. But being home was a little like torture these days. The job had been a blessing in disguise. He’d finally stopped watching _Marry Me!_ He’d gotten better at avoiding tabloids. He hoped, after this, Aziraphale’s life could go back to some kind of normal. Most people on the show disappeared into obscurity anyway, unless they came back to give advice, or went on to other shows.

Crowley wished only obscurity, on Aziraphale. Obscurity and joy. _Obscurity and joy._

God, he loved him. How many weeks later and Crowley was _still_ fucking hung up on him.

“Christ,” he muttered, grabbing his bag and heading out of his office. A drink, a wank, and maybe a smoke would do him some good.

It was late when Crowley finally parked his car in front of his house. Anathema had texted him a few more times — _just watch it, i’m serious. i think you’ll like it. i think you need to know how it ends._

“Ends like it always does, girlie. Nothing I need to see.” Crowley got out of the car and locked it. He could order out, he supposed. Indian, maybe. It’d been a while since he’d gotten a take away from the place up the street, he thought, moving past Aziraphale to —

Crowley stopped.

_Aziraphale._

He turned.

“...Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Hello.”

“...I. What are you...what’s—”

“Anathema said you probably hadn’t watched it. Congratulations on your new job.”

Crowley swallowed. “Yeah, it’s, uh. It’s good. Not much time for TV, you know.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Right. Well, I was there. I could tell you how it ends.”

“Aziraphale. What did you do?”

Aziraphale laughed and stepped closer. He looked down at his feet, then up at Crowley. “I sent them all home. I tried, you know. For a couple of weeks. I thought, _maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s this place._ But what I felt for you...it wouldn’t go away.”

“Aziraphale—”

“It wasn’t the island, or the house, or the beach. It was you. It was you and me, Crowley. You spent all that time with me, and it was such a comfort.”

“But it was only weeks, you can’t expect—”

“_Crowley_. When I was first invited to be on the show, and I met Tracy, I asked her. I asked, _how will I know?_ How will I know when I’ve met the person I’m supposed to spend the _rest_ of my life with? And do you know what she said?” Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale smiled. “She said, _when you know, you know._ And do you know something, Crowley?” Aziraphale closed the space between them, reaching down to take Crowley’s hand. “_I know._”

Crowley _breathed._ “Angel…” He clutched Aziraphale’s hand in his, leaned in, and kissed him. “Angel, angel, _angel_.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You know, we’re _not_ on an island.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”

“Your house is _no _villa—”

“Fucking tell me about, Aziraphale—”

“I don’t see a beach _anywhere_. And _somehow_...I still love you.” Aziraphale laughed. “I _still_ love you.”

Crowley sighed. “I know,” he said. “And I still love you.”

“This is _real_, Crowley. Can’t you feel it?”

Crowley pulled back. He looked at Aziraphale and, in this moment, could _feel_ him. Feel his love and feel the way the world grew very warm and still around them. He’d spent weeks being a mess over this man and now he was here, in Crowley’s arms, reminding him of what it felt like to be wanted, to be needed, to be _adored._

Crowley nodded. “Yeah,” he said, “I feel it, angel.

_“I feel it.”_

* * *

“Did you know,” Aziraphale said, “that it’s the most watched finale in _Marry Me!_ history?”

Crowley flopped onto the couch next to him and stole some cheese from his plate. “I did not.”

“Single handedly, you know—”

“Oh, _bollocks_,” Crowley said, leaning over and kissing Aziraphale’s cheek. “You had _help._”

“I don’t think you moping around set for several weeks counts as _help_, my dear, but if it makes you feel better…”

Crowley laughed. “Only thing I feel better about is no one knows it was me.”

“Gabriel had everyone sign something, it was very official.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet it was.” Crowley sighed. “So? What’s next for you?”

“Me?” Crowley nodded. “Oh, well, once the fervor dies down, I’ll open the shop again. I’ve had a few interview requests, but I’m not interested. Besides, they’ve already announced the star of the next season, so I’m _quite_ sure in a few weeks no one will even remember my name.” Aziraphale glanced at him. “You’re sure it’s alright if I stay here?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, and got up from the couch. “More wine?”

“Oh, _please._”

Crowley grinned and went into the kitchen.

Aziraphale had been right a few days before. London was no island, his house was no villa, and his street was no _beach_, but — he felt as much love here as he had in that room, the night they’d first kissed. And he was certain there was no going back.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw


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